The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

TIME IN THE INN . . .

It is now morning.

The sun has just come up. Cook and the serving girls have been up for a while and breakfast is just ready for anyone who comes down to the Common Room.

The day is sunny, so far. Though the breeze is a bit brisk. And far to the west, just peeking over the Tower Hills are a hint of dark clouds.

The front yard of the Inn is rather in disarray from yesterday's party. The little lanterns in the trees need to be taken down and put away in the cellar. Tables and benches need to be brought back into the Common Room. Flower beds inadvertently trampled by the crowds need to be tended to.

But breakfast first!

Eggs and thick slices of Shire ham; hot scones with sweet cream butter and blackberry jam; and pots of hot tea with honey as needed to wash it all down.

[Atarah]

At last, thought a young girl as she walked quietly through the door of the Green Dragon Inn. She'd been walking for a long time now, and didn't even know how she'd managed to find the inn. Her name was Tulip, a rather odd name for a Rohan girl, but then her mother was never a normal woman. Some said she wasn't even human. But Tulip had loved her mother, and the shock of her death still hadn't struck her young mind. On her death bed, Tulip's mother had expressed her wish for Tulip to go to the Green Dragon Inn and deliver a message to a woman named Aman. Everyone was shocked at this, but they couldn't deny a dying woman her last wish. So it was that Tulip journeyed to the Shire, accompanied by merchants headed for Bree. In Bree she aquired directions for the rest of her journey that she had to make alone. She was glad of the peace in the world, for she was a well learned girl, even at the young age of twelve, and knew of the evil events that had happened at the end of the last age. She'd even heard there used to be wolves in the Shire.

Tulip looked around for someone who might know how to find Aman. It was early, and only a few people were up and about. Tulip wasn't surprised that there were so few people about, as she had seen signs of a party remaining in the yard outside the inn. She walked to the bar and waited until someone noticed her.

"Hello there young lass," said a kind voice from behind the bar.

Tulip looked up from her study of the bar's grain to see a woman who, judging by her height, was a hobbit. Tulip smiled as she thought about her friends back home who would have mistaken the woman for a young human girl.

"Welcome to the Green Dragon," the hobbit continued. "My name's Ruby Brown. Can I get you anything? We're just starting to serve breakfast if you'd like some. We've got ham and eggs, or lovely hot scones with butter and jam."

Tulip smiled at Ruby and let out a sigh of relief. "I've been eating stale bread for weeks! A nice scone would be a pleasant change from that for sure. What drinks are you serving? Anything sweet?"

"We have some tea with honey," replied Ruby cheerilly.

"Tea with honey?" gasped Tulip. "I've always wanted to try some of that. We never had that at my house back in Rohan."

"Ah, so you're from Rohan," Ruby said with a smile. "Our Innkeeper was from Rohan. You'd get along well with her. I wonder if you've heard of her. Aman's her name. Lovely woman. So kind."

Tulip's heart skipped a beat. Aman was the Innkeeper here? What luck! From what her mother said it sounded more like Aman had gone to visit the Shire and could possibly be found at the Green Dragon. But the Innkeeper... "Would it be possible to speak to Aman?" Tulip was suddenly very shy. Her mother had spoken highly of Aman. "I have a message for her, from my mother."

"I'll let her know you're looking for her." Ruby began to walk towards what looked to be the kitchen, then turned and said, "But first, breakfast."

"Thank you." Tulip knew she was going to enjoy her stay here. She looked around the Inn once more and saw that people were beginning to arrive and order breakfast. Tulip looked forward to making new friends.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik had gone to the hills for the night, as was their way. He got his human sleep under a warm cloak, beneath the stars, while Uien walked slowly nearby, or stood staring at her beloved stars, or sat against an old wizened tree, dreaming with eyes wide open.

As usual, Falowik wondered if the moments when he slept were not the loneliest of Uien's life; but she had said him nay before once when he had asked, for it was when she lived within her memories, and communed with her loved ones and others who had left the shores of Middle Earth forever. Though she gainsaid him, reliving such memories seemed more lonely to him than anything else, let alone human sleep!

They woke with the sun and walked hand in hand back into Bywater. The Green Dragon Inn was much less busy. Such a difference one day made! Dark clouds rode the brisk wind out of the west. It would soon storm. They hurried into town and made their way to the Inn and through its welcoming front door. Sweet smells of a hobbitish breakfast wafted on the air in the Common Room. Falowik's mouth spread wide in a grin and he licked his lips.

"Do we still have some of that King's coin?" he asked.

"Aye, that we do." She looked in the purse at her hip. "Enough to last a fortnight."

"Good. We must pay for our horse's room and board as well as our own."

"I wish to speak with an Elven lady I saw here yesterday. I hope she has not left." Uien quieted and raised her head, sensing as only Elves can. Falowik waited. "No. I do not sense her. Maybe she is no longer here."

"Come let's sit down and be served. Take a little food, Fair One, and maybe later she will appear."

Uien nodded. "I would speak to her of a settling down place."

"I know. In good time."

[peral]

Sharya had only just finished her breakfast when she saw the young girl enter the common room and walk up to the bar. Definitely from Rohan she decided. No where else did they have lovely flaxen hair like that. She got up and tentatively made her way up to the girl, who was by now, looking curiously around the room at all of the patrons who were gathering. Sharya wanted so much to know what another human girl was doing here in the land of halflings. What had brought her here? What strange mission was she out to accomplish? Her nervousness was quite unfounded for as she approached, the girl immediately smiled at her.

"Hello."

"Hi," began Sharya, "I saw that you had just arrived and thought I'd come over and say hello."

The girl laughed. "Yes, indeed, I'm just waiting for my breakfast."

"Then, pray, come sit with me and we can talk, for I'm curious to know what another mortal girl is doing here in a village of halflings."

The girl laughed again, "Of course." As they took a seat, "By the way, I'm Tulip."

"I'm Sharya. To be quite honest with you, it's quite a relief to see someone who is my height." Then she looked curiously at Tulip, "What brings you here? So far away from your home country, Rohan?"

The girl looked surprised, "How did you know I was from Rohan?"

"Your hair. No where else in Middle-Earth does there exist such beautiful golden hair except in the land of the Riddermark."

"I suppose so, my hair has always been my pride and joy." She paused for a moment, as if to contemplate her hair. "Anyway, I'm here looking for a woman by the name of Aman. I have just heard that she is the innkeep here."

"Yes, she is indeed. And look, here comes your breakfast now."

Ruby brought over the tea and with a slight bob asked, "Would you be wanting anything else, miss."

"No thank you, I'm-" here she looked at Sharya, "Don't you want something to eat as well?"

Sharya shook her head. "No thank you, I've already eaten my breakfast."

Tulip nodded to her and shook her head at Ruby, "Well, do you have any scones?"

"Yes, miss, honey covered ones. I shall bring some out for you."

"Thank you."

Sharya smiled as she watched Tulip tentatively sampling her tea.

"Ooh! It's sweet!" she exclaimed.

Sharya grinned amiably at her. Perhaps this week wouldn't be so bad after all, she mused.

[Nurumaiel]

"Have you finished your breakfast?" Falco demanded.

"No," Marigold replied choosing to ignore his gruff tone. "I've just barely begun." She looked down at his own plate, and then to him, very disapprovingly. "You haven't eaten anything yet," she said. "You ought to. You didn't eat much of anything yesterday. I suppose the ale was filling enough."

"Don't be impudent," said Falco. Of course she hadn't finished yet. But he was impatient. He needed to send her off to find Miss Buttercup so he could go buy her some clothes. As for his own breakfast... he didn't want to eat it. He didn't feel like eating it, though of course he would never admit that he was grumpy and somehow felt as though it would be an act of humility to eat... that he must remain on a pedestal of pride, and eating would be contrary to that pride.

As for Marigold, she scowled darkly at his reproval. Had she been impudent? No, of course she hadn't! But maybe... it had been clever to mention the ale. He had had so many mugs, all full to the brim. But was she being impudent? She didn't want to be impudent. It might mean that she got out of the wrong side of bed... or was it on the wrong side of the bed? Or... was it from the wrong side of bed? This was getting to absurd. She would have to ask someone who knew. Maybe Mr. Headstrong knew, but she wouldn't ask him.

Well, whether it was out of, out on, or out from, she didn't want it to be the wrong side... not with her. That meant you were grumpy. Could she, sunny Marigold Baker, be grumpy? Her father had never liked to see her grumpy. And if she was grumpy (which she was certainly not!), why? She had been so bright and happy that morning when she let the sunlight in through her window. Maybe it was because she had seen those dark clouds rolling up as they entered the common room for breakfast. Or maybe Falco's mood was affecting her own.

She wouldn't let it! She had to be cheerful. To contradict his mood, for one reason. She didn't want to be in the same mood as him. And for another thing, to change his mood. Maybe her mood would affect his.

Little Marigold smiled cheerily... or tried to. Falco scowled.

[Child of the 7th Age]

By the time that Bella awoke, Cook had been up and about for several hours cleaning up the mess in the kitchen left from the night before and making sure that the guests at the Inn had ample fare for breakfast. True to her word, Cook had left the stranger two small pots hanging from a hook over the small hearthfire in the parlor: one with honeyed tea and the other filled with chicken soup, which many healers swore was a good remedy for all manner of ailments and woes.

Bella sat up on the sofa, yawned, stretched, and glanced around the room. She put her feet on the floor and unsteadily stood up, hanging on to a nearby night table to steady her balance. The events of the night before were no more than a misty haze. Bella remembered falling asleep in the back of the wagonbed, and recalled that several lads and a young hobbit lass had come outside to help her. She even had a vague memory of being carried inside the Inn and laid out on this sofa, with the whole process being supervised by someone who went by the name of "Cook".

Filled with curiosity to see where she was, Bella ran to the parlour window and looked outside. Just a few feet away was a road filled with all manner of folk who were no taller than herself. This strange sight filled her with extraordinary delight. Beyond the road she could glimpse well ordered fields boasting an assortment of crops, sheep and cows scattered over adjoining pastures, and the whole scene hemmed about with thick hedges and rolling hills. It was just as Cami had described. She had seen very little travelling in the back of the wagon underneath the straw and heavy canvas covers. This was the first real glimpse of the Shire she had gotten. Bella promised herself that someday she would go and visit Tukborough, which was where her father had spent his youth. And also to the Marrish from which her mother's people hailed.

Her own clothes had disappeared, but someone had kindly thought to provide another skirt and tunic, and a cap to tie upon her head. The woman dressed quickly, then sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. She filled a second mug with chicken soup. She had finished off the soup and was about to start on the sweet tea when there was a sharp knock on the door. "Do come in," she promply replied....

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger pays Miz Bella a prompted visit . . .

There were shushed whisperings just outside the closed door and scuffling as someone was pushed nearer. ‘G’wan, now,’ someone’s hushed voice urged. ‘Her name’s Belladonna Took . . .And remember . . . ask her where she’s from.’

Ginger knocked softly on the door to Cook’s parlour, hoping she wouldn’t be heard. Miz Bunce had stepped out for a moment to give some instructions to the lads who’d come to bring the benches and tables back into the Common Room. Buttercup, curious, about the stranger Cook had taken in last night, had convinced Ginger this was something she should do. She’d handed the young Hobbit a small stack of books they’d found half hidden under the straw in the wagon, telling her she should give them to the woman.

‘Do come in,’ she heard a clear voice say.

Certain the woman would hear her heart pounding, Ginger pushed the door open carefully and peeked in. The woman gave her an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling beneath her capped grey curls. My goodness she looks just like my Granny!

Ginger blushed and came a little closer, bobbing a small curtsy as she laid the small stack of books on the table next to the woman’s seat. ‘Your books, Miz Took. The last of them.’ She looked at the other books piled on the table by the sofa. It was more books than she’d seen in all her young years.

‘My gosh!’ Ginger said, forgetting she’d been sent in by Buttercup to ferret out information. She picked up one of the more slender volumes and leafed through it carefully. On one of the pages was an ink drawing of some stern faced man in a winged helm. He held a sword in one hand and seemed to be looking far off . . .

‘Oh, my,’ Ginger said running her finger down the page, ‘who’s this, ma’am? Did you know him’ She turned a curious face to the elder Hobbit. ‘Can you read this to me?’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling made his way into the Common Room slowly, his stomach beginning to roar already. The smell of freshly baked scones dripping with butter and honey had brought him from his dreams, and the smell of frying bacon had dragged him from the straw of the stables. Now that he stood amid the tables he realised how hungry he was and lamented again the loss of his purse. He looked about to see if Mithalwen had come down yet, for he felt sure that he could borrow a coin or two from her for his breakfast. (His newfound wealth had not yet removed his lack of scruples when it came to borrowing money.) The Elf was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the people there were strangers to him, but for the little hobbit lass who had cried at him yesterday when the cake had splattered across his chest. She looked at him again and made a sour face but then turned away, blushing. Snaveling was about to move along in search of the kitchens – where he knew he could count on Cook to give him some provender gratis just to get him out from underfoot – when the elderly hobbit sitting across from the girl looked his way, attracted, no doubt, but the little girl’s sudden change in mood.

As the Halfling glanced at Snaveling, the Man noticed two things. First, that the hobbit was in a terrible humour for some reason – and judging by his complexion it probably had something to do with the festivities of the night before. Second, there was a large plate of food before the Halfling that he had not touched, and which he showed little signs of wanting to eat (and again, Snaveling noted his complexion). The Man had spent too many years a beggar to have a few months of finery and wealth overcome a lifetime’s habit of making shift when needed, and he had spent too much time learning the ways of the King’s Court not to know how to please when needed. Meeting the Halfling’s gaze he smiled broadly and stepped toward the table. “Good morning,” he said amiably. “I do not believe that we have made our introductions. I am Snaveling,” and he stuck out his hand.

The Halfling paused before returning the gesture, saying gruffly, “I’m Falco Headstrong. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” sounding all the time as though he was not pleased for anything of the sort. “This here is Marigold,” he said indicating the lass across from him. Snaveling bowed to her in the grandest manner he could. “Yes, she and I have already met, in a way, and it is on her account that I have approached you. Please, Mistress Marigold, accept my apologies for my clumsiness of yesterday. At the time, I believe, I upset you and may have even given you a sharp look. May I join you for breakfast?” he asked quickly, his eyes inadvertently slipping to Falco’s still untouched, but rapidly cooling plate of food, “So that we can talk of merrier things and drive away the unpleasantness of our first encounter?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold blushed to the very tips of her ears and set her eyes upon her plate in a stare as Falco gruffly bid the Man sit down. He was the very same Man who had ruined her cake and mussed her clothes the day before. Her eyes dropped farther and she looked down at her skirt. She see the slight stain from the cake icing. But she had called in an 'awful Man,' and she hadn't apologised to him for it yet. Her mother was always telling her that she ought to make amends with those she bore in ill will before letting the day fade into night. But it was so hard to apologise. And he had done the greater evil. He should be the one to apologise.

But he had apologised, and very grandly. Marigold sat in stony silence, feeling miserable because she wouldn't tell him she was sorry for calling him awful without any excuse for not doing it.

As for Falco, he was feeling annoyed because Marigold didn't say anything. She was the talkative (too talkative, at most times), cheery little hobbit... why didn't she say something to this Big Folk fellow? No doubt she knew how awkward he, Falco Headstrong, felt with this Big Folk fellow, and she was deliberately leaving him in the dilemna. No doubt!

"Here, now," said Falco, gruffly. If he were to speak he would not have to sound 'all creamy milk and pretty flowers,' as Fosco had always said. "What are you doing here in the Shire?" Now, that sounded very rude, as if this Big Folk fellow was tramping about where he had no right. Falco was not in the mood to be polite, but his good upbringing forbade him to be rude.

"I do mean," he said, "do you have any business here?" After his earlier words, that didn't sound very much better. Falco softened his voice considerably, though he felt gruffer and gruffer inside. Why did he have to give any consideration to this Big Folk fellow, anyway?

Marigold had just resolved to apologise and become friends with the Man was Falco began speaking. Perhaps the Man would be driven away by the gruff questions. She hoped not. If they did she would follow him (while pretending she wasn't, of course), and then apologise where no one could witness her humiliation. Why hadn't she just called him a 'Man' in the same tone of voice, rather than an 'awful Man?' Maybe she wouldn't be obligated to apologise, then.

"What brings you here?" said Falco, trying to amend his statement and finding that he had lost the eloquence for words that came when he was singing. "Perhaps you are just sight-seeing? I shouldn't blame you if you were; the Shire is such a lovely place." That sounded a little bit friendlier. But in the midst of his words Falco had no doubt that this Big Folk fellow was a murderer hiding himself in the Shire to escape justice. No doubt at all!

[Arry]

‘Step lively now, lads,’ came the all too cheerful, and awake, voice of Andwise as he pulled his little wagon up to the stable. There were moans and groans as eyes pried open then snapped shut again in the bright light of morning. True to his word, Andwise had collected them from their warm beds and brought them back to the scene of last night’s festivities.

Gil clambered down from the wagon, jostling his companions on the shoulders as he did so. Tomlin tried to pull his cap lower over his eyes and ignore the signal, but Fallon grabbed it off his head and sailed it down to Gil. A short scuffle ensued, as tempers flared a bit. It was soon forgotten as Andwise called out, ‘Come on! Breakfast first and then the tables.’

‘I could use a plate of eggs and ham and something sweet,’ said Gil as they entered the door to the Common Room. Ruby heard his declaration and hmmph’d at it. ‘I see that saucy look in your eye! Only sweet you’ll be having this morning is tea with honey and scones with jam.’ Gil winked at her, causing her to laugh.

‘Large pot of tea for us,’ said Andwise, leading the way to a table. Ferdy nodded his head yes to this, as did the others . . . save for Ferrin, who waved off the offer of tea. ‘Half pint for me,’ he said in a gravelly voice, his chin resting on his hand. ‘What?’ he rasped out as the others raised their brows at his request. ‘Bit of the dog that bit me last night . . . that’s what I’m thinking I need this morning to set my head straight.’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone to bed late and risen early. The excitement and exertion of the previous day had made few demands on her elvish constitution and the sight of stars on a clear night were as refreshing as sleep. Nevertheless she had retired to her tiny chamber under the roof for a few hours before rising with the dawn and after dressing in her plain grey garb rather than the fine gown for he previous day she had spent a few hours tidying up the yard. She did not know where many of the things went but she had done what she could - gathering things together. Then the smell of breakfast became irresistable. Mithalwen washed her hands at the pump and wandered into the dining room.


She saw Snaveling - and she went to speak to him. "Tar Corondir, I had hoped you might join me for breakfast but I see you have company - perhaps we will speak later. " Mithalwen then looked across the room, prompted by some instinct and saw an elf sitting with a man. She had noticed them yesterday but had not had the opportunity to speak with them.... Going to Uien and Falowik's table she said in her own tongue "May I join you? I believe you would speak with me "

[Atarah]

Tulip was glad of Sharya's company. She'd spent many weeks on the road alone, even though she was just a child. The fact that Sharya was also of the race of Man could only add to Tulip's joy at meeting her. She had been quite shocked when her new friend had instantly recognised that she was from Rohan, but then she had smiled to herself as Sharya pointed out her hair colour. Of course her hair would identify her as being from Rohan. She should have covered it better, but then why did she need to? She wasn't hiding from anyone.

The smell of freshly baked scones alerted Tulip to Ruby's return. A quick exchange of thank you's and Ruby went back to serving. Tulip sipped at her wonderfully sweet tea as she watched Sharya take a hot scone, the smell making her forget the breakfast she’d already eaten, only drop it again. Tulip giggled.

"Careful. They'll be hot."

"I just discovered that," replied Sharya with a laugh. She sucked her finger to stop it burning. "I hope they cool down soon. I'm starving."

"But you said you'd already had breakfast." Tulip put down her tea and tentatively poked at the nearest scone. They weren't very hot at all. "You must have sensitive hands." She picked up the scone she'd poked and began spreading some thick honey on it.

"So what is your business with Aman?" Sharya asked, thinking that the term “business” seemed appropriate even though Tulip was still young. She seemed to be very grown up for her age. Even her eyes looked grown up, maybe even wise.

Tulip added a large dollop of cream to her honey-smothered scone. She thought it a childish thing for her to do, then scolded herself for forgetting she was a child. Sometimes she got so carried away with acting grown up that she forgot her age. She contemplated what her answer to Sharya's question should be. If she told her friend that her mother had died, she'd have to put up with another bout of sympathy, and that would only lead to tears. She had to stay strong. If she let anyone here see that she was still mourning her mother's death after nearly a year they'd treat her like a child no matter how grown up she acted. No, she thought, I won't tell her that part just yet.

"I have to deliver a letter from my mother," she finally answered.

"She sent you all that way to deliver a letter?" questioned Sharya.

"I-" Tulip hesitated. She'd never thought about that before. Why had her mother sent her all the way to the Shire when a messenger could just have easily delivered the letter? "My mother thought very highly of Aman," she said quickly. "She would have liked to deliver it in person, but as she couldn't she sent me in her stead." Tulip looked down at the scone on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. Why was she here?

[littlemanpoet]

"May I join you? I believe you would speak with me." It was Mithalwen, the Elf woman Uien had hoped to find.

Uien smiled. "Yes, please, sit with us," she said in Sindarin. She switched to Common tongue to say, "Have you eaten yet?"

"No." Mithalwen sat across from Uien, the Man on her left.

Falowik looked up at her not without a little awe in his face, for he had not understood the Elf woman's speech, but had been moved by it; not quite the same way it moved him when Uien spoke that way, but only by a small measure. There was something about her that was outside his ken; something in the music of her speech that brought unbidden thoughts of wind and sea, blue sky and grey shores. He stared openly, lost in the moment.

The Elf woman took little notice of the rude Man, but exchanged searching, not unfriendly gazes.

Falowik felt far beyond his depth.

After a few moments, Uien sighed and said, "Nor have we. Let us break our fast together."

Falowik wondered what communication had passed between the two Elves in that gaze.

"I did not sense you in the inn moments ago," Uien said.

"I was in the yard cleaning. What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bella smiled broadly at Ginger and gestured for her to sit down on the bed so they could look at the book together. "You like history then?" Bella queried, as she pointed to the picture of the stern faced man with the elaborate winged helm on his head. "This is a fine volume that I acquired the last time I was in Minas Tirith. Look here. There is a picture of Tuor wearing the armor and helm that the King of Gondolin had made for him. The helm was of Noldor steel overlaid with silver and had swan wings that protruded out on either side. You know," chirped Bella enthusiastically, "that Tuor's helm was the ancestor of the winged helms that the men of Numenor used, and even of the winged crown that King Elessar wore at his coronation. The wings in the crown of Gondor were said to be of pearl and silver, and to resemble the wings of a sea bird."

Ginger peered intently at the pictures that Bella showed her, but remained very quiet, since she was awash in a flood of names and places that meant little to her. Not to be deterred, Bella warmly pushed the book towards Ginger. "There's no reason for you to wait for me to read it to you. Why don't you borrow it for a bit? You'll be able to read it on your own. You can return it to me whenever you are finished. I am hoping to stay here for a while."

There was an awkward silence before Ginger responded.

[peral]

Sharya looked at the girl in front of her, she seemed to have fallen silent. She was worried, had she said something to offend Tulip? She really hoped not, it wasn't easy for her to make new friends and Tulip and her seemed to share something that helped them get to know each other almost immediately. She remembered what her own father had said once: Whatever happens, don't offend anyone and make enemies. She knew the consequences of making enemies. One was on her trail now, hunting her, but she didn't want anyone to know that. it was her secret, and her's alone.

She felt pensive, thinking about her father and thinking about the rest of her family still in Gondor always made her thoughtful, if not slightly moody. She hoped that Tulip wouldn't notice her sudden uncommunicativeness, but the other girl seemed to be otherwise preoccupied. Sharya didn't want to be the first to break the silence, so she waited for Tulip to begin speaking when she felt like it.

[Atarah]

It was some time before Tulip or Sharya spoke again. They were both deep in their own thoughts, both sitting with their arms tightly folded and a frown on their face. Tulip for one did this quite often. Ever since she was old enough to start questioning the world around her she had spent many hours lying outside staring up at the stars. Her father had often told her off for being “away with the fairies” so frequently. Her mother, on the other hand, had strongly defended Tulip on this matter, saying it was a good way to develop her mind, training it not to take things for granted, but instead question why they were there and for what purpose. As well as questioning the world, Tulip often studied the behaviour of those around her, and as a result had become an excellent judge of character. Tulip’s mind was in the process of becoming that of a philosopher. Many people back in Rohan had told her to stop being a “silly little girl” when she shared her theories with them, but some listened, though only to forget a few days later.

Suddenly remembering where she was, Tulip looked up to see Sharya deep in thought. “What’s on your mind,” she asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Sharya’s reply seemed rushed, suggesting to Tulip that her friend was hiding something, just as she herself was. She considered pursuing the matter, but she’d only just met Sharya, so thought better than to start prying in on her private life. She decided instead to talk of the present.

“So what brings you to the Shire?” Tulip asked. “I meant to ask you earlier, but got caught up in my thoughts. And where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking? Unlike you, I’m not very good at working out where people come from by their hair colour.”

Sharya smiled, then laughed, glad to be distracted from her dark thoughts. “I’m from Gondor.” She thought about what she could say to answer her companion’s other question without directly lying. “I came here to get away from things.” It wasn’t lying, but Sharya still felt guilty for not being completely honest.

“It’s so lovely here in the Shire,” Tulip replied, not seeming to have noticed Sharya’s slightly guilty expression. “I can see why you’d want to come here to get away.” Tulip looked out of the window, and was slightly dissapointed by the sight of grey clouds. She wouldn’t let the weather spoil her good mood she decided.

[samsmyhero]

Denegal grimaced slightly as he limped forward towards the inn. He was glad to finally be reaching it; but, the lack of coin in his purse foretold a meager break from his involuntary fasting.

He'd had nothing to eat since yesterday morn, and all that had consisted of was a few handfuls of watercress found in a little, tumbling stream wandering down out of the hills to the east. He'd set a snare at eventide, when he'd ended his day's journey. The blisters, cuts and bruises on his left foot had been just too painful to proceed further, even though he knew the village was very close. He had hoped to catch a rabbit or two as the dusk fell. But the little animals weren't cooperating. Seeing them flitting by in the misty, semi-darkness, his stomach had rumbled loudly. The sky had been threatening rain. As he had wrapped himself in his cloak, finally abandoning all hope of roast rabbit for supper, he felt sure he would wake in a downpour.

The morning had broken fair and sunny though, and the young soldier had been surprised that he had slept so soundly. All these weeks in the open had apparently desensitized him to the sharp jab of rock and root. As he hobbled down the road, he took hope in the words of the traveller he had walked with a ways several days ago. "Steer for The Green Dragon, and ye can't go wrong, m'lad! The Green Dragon - that's where ye need to make for. They're a friendly lot there, they are! A warm, clean bed and good, solid food. That's where most decent folk go to stay when we're passing through these parts. Tis run by a human gal, I'm told, this last little while. But still, I'm sure they'll do right by ye!"

The word "friendly" had struck a positive chord in Denegal's heart. When was the last time he had been in the company of true friends? With his supply of money dwindling, he hoped such an inn might have need of some hard labor that he could offer in exchange for a few days of room and board. For he knew he could not travel on much further until he rested and gave his foot time to heal. The reference to the inn being run by a human was somewhat puzzling; the Gondorian wondered who or what else might be found directing such an establishment. Ah well, his months on the road had brought him into contact with some very . . . queer individuals. Trying not to let his spirits falter, he had slogged on, slowly, wondering if he would outrun the clouds that were starting to gather to the west.

By breakfast, he had just made it to the little town. Now, as he approached the inn yard, he saw the usual early morning bustle of activity at such a place. A cartload of children had just offloaded its passengers. But, upon closer inspection, Denegal realized that these "children" were in fact little people, of an age, or older, than himself, but standing just a little over half his height! Well, well! So perhaps this had something to do with his erstwhile companion's strange remark. That would also explain the number of "children" he had seen in passing on his way to the town. He had not given them much thought, nor looked very closely at them, having been preoccupied by his stomach and his foot. But, upon reflection, there had seemed to be a goodly number of them about.

Denegal hobbled on and entered the inn. He found himself in a large common room, populated by a good number of people scattered amongst the various tables. The smell of fried eggs and ham wafted from the kitchen and set his mouth to watering. Feeling gingerly of the small leather purse that hung now about his neck, its weight being of no account, he swallowed hard and looked about for a server. He felt, rather than saw, the looks of several of the rooms' occupants staring at him. It must have been a rare sight - a soldier with no left boot!

[Mithalwen]

"I had thought to learn from whom I had heard of the handfasting; but it was not you. And we are kindred, though our peoples are severed by time and fate." Mithalwen listened to Uien and could not imediately place her accent - Lorien or Eryn Lasgalen ? She wondered the for the manner of speech was similar and it was long since she had had dealings with the silvan folk.

"Indeed it was not for my arrival here was by chance - my horse cast a shoe and we needed shelter from the rain two nights since - I knew nothing of the handfasting until I arrived......kindred .. yes.... we elves are so few in these latter days, this side of the Sundering Sea; there is small need to make the old distinctions .... Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already."

Mithalwen paused for the waitress had brought a pot of tea and took their orders. She sipped at the infusion to which she had added neither milk nor sugar or honey. She had drunk this before at Imladris - the long residence of Dunedain and the hobbit Bilbo had added some variety to the usual elvish fare- and as she sipped she studied Uien and Falowik across the table. Clearly these inns were the place to hear unusual tales.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus

Unable to obtain rooms in the crowded inn and still less able to pay for them anyway, Seamus and Owen had spent the night in the common room, stretched out in armchairs before the fire. Exhausted from the day’s excitement, Shimshin, too, curled himself into a little ball in Seamus’ lap and slept soundly through the remainder of the night, a little silver-colored whistle clutched tightly in his small fist. As the common room began to return to life the next morning, Seamus awoke first. Trying not to wake Shimshin in the process, Seamus reached one of his long legs out across the hearthrug and gave Owen a gentle kick. Owen stirred, crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest.

“I told you he didn’t mean to take it!” he muttered angrily. Seamus grinned and gave his friend another nudge with the toe of his boot.

“Oy! Wake up!”

This time Owen sat bolt upright and glared around the steadily-filling common room for a long instant before coming to the realization that he had been dreaming. Catching sight of Shimshin still curled safely in Seamus’ lap, Owen sighed and slumped back into his chair. “Is it morning already, then?” he asked, blinking owlishly in the direction of the kitchen.

“It is indeed,” answered Seamus.

“Have we got enough money for breakfast? Whatever they’re cooking in there smells monstrous good.”

Seamus shrugged, then reached into his coat. After mining around for a while in the depths of his pocket, he withdrew his hand and deposited the whole of his funds on the small table that stood between the two armchairs. It amounted to three coppers, a button, and a few tufts of lint. Owen stared sleepily at Seamus’ accumulated funds, then dug into his own pocket. A few seconds later, two more coppers and an empty peanut shell had joined the pile on the table. The two young men stared at the meager pile with long faces. Then, Seamus shook his head.

“I daresay, if I’d known we were this strapped, I might not have been so fast and loose with those ha’ pennies yesterday,” he sighed.

Owen gave him a sideways look. “What ha’ pennies?”

“Oh, I gave those little chaps, Willie and Nick, a ha’ penny each to watch Shimshin for us while we played yesterday.”

“Oh...” Owen let out a sigh of his own. “Well, they were capital little fellows. I suppose it was worth the investment. Aside from that one brooch, I don’t think Shimshin got into much trouble. He’s got that little whistle there, but it doesn’t look to be worth much. Just a bit of tin, I expect.”

Seamus looked down at the whistle still clutched in the monkey’s hand. “I suppose it belongs to one of the little hobbit fellows. If we left it with the innkeeper, I’m sure she would see that it found its way back to them right proper and all.”

“I suppose so.” Owen sighed again as one of the Green Dragon’s serving girls whisked past them to another table bearing a plate piled high with fresh sausage and eggs. Seamus’ gaze followed the plate attentively, too, until it landed at its destination in front of a rather portly hobbit, who grinned and poured hot maple syrup thickly over the whole pile. Sighing in unison, the two young men pushed themselves regretfully to their feet. They had a long way to go yet to reach their destination and knew that the luxury of the inn’s fine breakfast was more than they could afford. They had come to the handfasting in the hopes of earning a bit of spare change by plying their trade as musicians, but in the end had ended up spending more than they made. Without speaking, both young men knew that discretion dictated they beat a hasty retreat before they spent even more.

Seamus lifted Shimshin, who awoke at once and scrambled agilely up Seamus’ shirt to his accustomed perch on the tall man’s shoulder. Once Shimshin had settled in, wrapping his long tail loosely around Seamus’ neck for balance, Seamus reached out and pocketed his share of the money on the side table and waited as Owen did the same. Then, exchanging a sorrowful glance, for they had both enjoyed their brief stay at the Green Dragon very much, the two young men picked up their rucksacks and their instruments and left through the inn’s front door. On their way to the gate, they dropped back around to the kitchen door, where they stuck their heads in and thanked the cook and the innkeeper both for their kindness and hospitality, asking that they say good-bye to Gil and the rest of the band for them, as well. Seamus gave the innkeeper the whistle Shimshin had stolen. Smiling at their story of how they had ended up with the child’s toy, the innkeeper promised that she would see that it was returned to Willie and Nick at the first opportunity.

Seamus and Owen thanked her again and took their leave. Within minutes, they had regained the open road and were on their way, the Green Dragon Inn sinking slowly into the distance behind them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Falco’s food was still untouched, and Snaveling was having a difficult time keeping his eyes from the Halfling’s plate. Still, he heard enough to know that the little fellow was more than a bit suspicious of him, and Snaveling wondered if perhaps Falco knew more about him than he was letting on. Snaveling was sure that there were still rumours about the Shire of the rogue who tried to burn down the Green Dragon, who stole a bag of gold and who had nearly been ejected from the whole place for violent and disorderly conduct. He searched the face of Mr. Headstrong but saw in it only a generalized dislike for and distrust of outsiders. Strangely enough, this was comforting to the Man of the south.

“My business is personal,” he replied casually. “I am in search of a traveling companion, a Ranger woman called Roa. She and I have become separated. I don’t suppose you would have any news of her? A tall woman with red hair and green eyes? She may have passed through some part of the Shire a few weeks ago.”

Falco twisted his face and thought for a bit. “Can’t say as I have seen anyone like that,” he replied.

Snaveling, grateful for the opportunity to redirect his attention from the elder Halfling (who disconcerted him) as well as from the plate of food (which tormented him), turned to Marigold and asked her the same question. The lass looked surprised that he would be asking her such a question, as though she were all grown up and likely to know of the comings and goings of the Big Folk. She pursed her lips and with a great show of concentration thought for a long time before saying, “I don’t think I’ve seen any Ranger woman like that.” Her eyes brightened at an idea. “You should ask Aman!” she said gaily, “She knows most everything that happens in these parts!”

Snaveling’s face twitched involuntarily at the mention of the Innkeeper’s name and he said only, “That’s a good idea, Mistress Marigold. Perhaps I shall speak with her.”

A light movement at his elbow drew his attention to Ruby standing by the table. “Good morning, Mr. Snaveling,” she said. “Did you sleep well?” Snaveling caught the tone of the question and knew that she was well aware that he had been sleeping in the stable to avoid paying for a room.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I found my accommodations as comfortable as always.”

“Can I get you any breakfast?”

Her question caught him off guard and Snaveling was momentarily flustered. “Well, yes, I would but…as it happens…I am a bit short of funds at the moment. In fact, I have no money at all! I don’t suppose, perhaps, I could get something on credit?”

Ruby looked doubtful, saying. “I don’t know. I think that there might be something in the accounts from your last visit…” For the first time Snaveling remembered that in his haste to depart the Inn, and thus avoid a confrontation with Aman, he had neglected to pay for two nights lodging and several meals.

Now genuinely embarrassed he tried to make light of it. “Well that’s all right, Ruby, it’s all right. I am sure that I can make shift for myself today. Perhaps I shall speak with Miss Aman about some kind of arrangement… In the meantime I wouldn’t dream of asking you to extend me any more credit!” Ruby seemed relieved at this and curtseying, she walked away. Snaveling turned back to Falco and Marigold, dreading the direction the conversation might go at this point, and certain that the Halflings would see him now only as a beggar.

[littlemanpoet]

"Nevertheless I deem you must be from either Lorien or the Woodland Realm for if you dwellt in Imladris or Lindon, surely we would have met already." Mithalwen sipped her tea, adding nothing. Uien added a dollop of honey to hers. Ever since she had first tasted Shire honey she had never been able to say it nay.

Falowik listened to the two converse as he cut into his ham and eggs with relish.

"You speak the truth. We have never been to Lindon, though we have passed through Imladris twice in the past four months; but we stopped there only briefly, I am sad to say. I am from Lothlorien. My lineage is Sindarin, but I have not followed my kindred over sea. I was unable to go with them." Uien's face darkened slightly, at a memory that Mithalwen could not read, but it was unpleasant; that was easy enough to read.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's sharp elven ears caught the substance of Snaveling's conversation with Ruby. She pitied the man and if he had not been in company and she distracted by her own kindred she would have bought him breakfast. She had no great riches but she had more than enough with her for her journey - she did not expect many demands on her purse when she left this place.

When Ruby brought food for herself and her companions Mithalwen spoke softly to her. "Take a full breakfast to the man they call Snaveling - I will pay". She had paid for her own board and her horse's keep in advance but slipped coins into Ruby's hand "this will be sufficient? "

"More than, Miss, I'll get you change "....

"Deduct it from what else he owes ..... but please do not tell him who paid - I would not embarrass him", said the elf.

Her grey eyes were serious but inwardly she felt a glimmer of amusement that a lord of men was being funded by her honest craft. Yet we do not all receive good preparation for the lives we are to lead she thought...and it may save him from a further lapse into crime. She knew Uien would read a lot of her thought and smiled. She smiled again moments later when plates of food and a steaming mug were placed before Snaveling though she had to rely on sound since she dare not turn around to watch.

" Don't worry it is paid for - just don't question it " she heard the hobbit waitress 's words to the man.

Mithalwen returned her attention to her companions. "I have not been to Imladris so recently but I am on my way there now - and I have not been to Lothlorien for a very long time indeed. However my mother is of the Teleri so we are akin from afar. She too passed over sea and age of the world ago. The separation is hard but still I do not feel ready to make the journey myself yet". Mithalwen saw the sorrow in her companion's eyes but did not know how much to make of it - most elves carried the memory of some grief from some point in their long lives. Her own she had learnt to cover well, though Snaveling had managed to catch a raw nerve the night before. But the grief of Uien seemed more recent and extreme. she wondered what had prevented the journey.

[piosenniel]

Everyone

Please make sure you are familiar with the Inn Facts at the top of this page.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger could feel the heat creeping up her neck; soon she would be as red as her copper curls, or redder. She swallowed hard, trying not to stammer as she spoke. ‘Begging your pardon, m’am,’ she began, as her fingers slid the offered book back toward Bella. ‘But I . . . well . . . it’s just that . . .’

Bella looked over at her, a patient smile on her face. She had picked up the book, and held it lightly in her hands, looking as if she might hand it back to her. Ginger get hold of yourself! the young woman told herself sharply.

‘It’s like this, Miz Took,’ Ginger said, taking the book and opening it up to the picture she had first asked about. ‘I would like very much to read this book. And this Tuor looks to be very brave. Handsome almost as Big Folk go.’ She traced the winged helm, wondering about the new king who wore one. ‘And bless you for thinking I’d take good enough care of it that you would lend it to me. But the honest truth is I can’t read the words on the pages.’

Miz Bella’s eyes widened at this, but before she could make a comment, Ginger plunged on. ‘That is . . . I can write my name. And I can do numbers. I have to; sometimes my Da and brothers need help with the lists for the vegetables and pigs they’ve sold. And, oh, I can recognize most of the things we sell when they’re written. It’s a short list really, and I memorized them. But unless the words about Tuor are all sows and boars and taters and carrots and such, I can’t make heads or tails of them.’

[Nurumaiel]

"Well, well, you have no money," said Falco, and his tone clearly implied the rest of his unspoken thoughts: this great fellow of the Big Folk, those Big Folk who thought they owned the Shire and everyone in it, was poor and shiftless and could get no work. Falco went on, speaking gruffly, but with a little twinkle in his eye that was directed towards Marigold. "I suppose you would consider it beneath your dignity to accept any assistance from a foolish little hobbit like me, but... I'm well-to-do, in fact, very well-to-do, and I can hardly find enough ways to spend my money. I would not dare let you leave the Shire and think that we hobbits were not willing to help one who is in need. In short, young man - " Falco felt superior with that adjective " - I will offer to pay whatever you owe, as you cannot do it yourself."

Marigold's little heart thrilled at Falco's gracious offer, and she felt that, despite all his grumpiness, he was not such a mean old hobbit after all, for she had been thinking so that morning. Feeling that somehow she must try to give this Man a good impression of hobbit kindness, as well, she leaned towards him, tugged at his sleeve, and gazed up at him with big earnest eyes. "Mr. Snaveling," she said, wondering why he had such a very odd name, "I am very sorry I called you awful yesterday. I don't think you're awful. I think you're a very..." What was he? She could call him 'nice' when she didn't know him very well yet. "I think you're a very interesting Man," she said, and, to make up for the deficiency of words, she gave him what she considered her charming smile of good-will, and sat back again in her chair.

[piosenniel]

~*~ Notice of New RPG Opening ~*~

Thalionyulma (Thali, for short) invites you to take a look at the Mirkwood Endgame Discussion Thread – HERE.

Three male Elven characters are needed: two from Mirkwood and one from Lorien.

Should be a fun game! See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[peral]

Sharya noticed Tulip glancing out the window and looked as well. Grey clouds hovered upon the horizon, like a panther waiting to pounce upon its prey. So much for nice sunny days in the Shire, she thought. Suddenly, she remembered something that she had to do.

She stood up quickly and noticed Tulip's curious look. "I'm really sorry, Tulip, I would love to stay and talk a little longer but I have just remembered something that I must get done before midday."

Tulip looked slightly worried, had what she had thought about Sharya earlier really be proving itself true? Was Sharya really hiding something?

"It's alright."

Sharya looked gratefully at her. "Thank you, perhaps I'll see you around dinnertime," and with these words she quickly exited the Common Room.

It wasn't as if Sharya didn't want to stay and talk some more with Tulip, but something about her past caused her to want to go out and do what she needed to do. She exited the inn, not quite sure of where she was going, but she knew one thing, she needed to be ready no matter what and to do that, she was going to need a few things. She noticed that the breeze was picking up slightly and that the things still littered around the front yard were starting to blow away from their original positions. Pulling her dress closer around herself she started walking down the road. She felt something on the wind, something that disturbed her greatly, a shadow, a demon from her past.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was saved the embarrassment of accepting Falco’s offer of money – so clearly presented to display his own wealth – by the sudden arrival of a large plate of food and steaming mug of tea. Ruby laid it upon the table explaining that it had been paid for by an unknown benefactor, but Snaveling knew with the instinct of his kind that it was the Elf Mithalwen who had paid for his fare. Ruby leaned toward him slightly and Snaveling lowered his head to her ear so that she could softly explain that his other debts had been discharged as well. The Man restrained himself from looking toward his new friend where she sat with another Elf and a strange looking Man, and he shrouded his gratitude within his thoughts. If she wanted to have it as a secret, then let it remain as such, he thought. There was also a certain pleasure in realising that despite his revelations to her, Mithalwen still did not fully comprehend his nature. That she could think her intent was so easily hidden from him was an interesting point to note…

The lass Marigold was now speaking to him. “Interesting?” he echoed, a slight smile breaking out across his face. “Why now, I have been called many things in my time, but never quite that, my lass! Thank you. And may I say that I find you a most intriguing creature in your own right. Here I am, a great clumsy Big Man who nearly ruined your day and your frock, and you are apologising to me! I do not blame you for your hard words to me. Indeed, as I have said, I have been called by many names in my life and many of them much harder than awful. In fact, I hate to admit that at times I have been quite awful, but I hope that those days are at last behind me.” He spoke this last thought more to Falco than to the lass. The little fellow’s manner had grated upon Snaveling, and he could not restrain himself from putting the Halfling right in a couple of matters. “I thank you for your offer, Master Falco, but as you can see the present need has been met. As for my future requirements I assure you that as soon as I can speak with the Innkeeper I will have no trouble reacquiring my credit, for I am myself of some worth in the lands I come from.” His mind flashed to the Vale of Arlanduian, rich green lands upon the south-western flanks of the White Mountains: uninhabited save by a few of the hunting folk, Snaveling’s kin, and now his own estate by gift of the King Elessar. Of old, it was said, the vale had been blessed with the finest grapes of Gondor, and the wine made there was prized throughout the West, and even beyond, for the clarity and shine of its flavour. In time, he thought, the vale would again produce such fruit.

Falco scowled somewhat at the gentle rebuff, and the insinuation that his own wealth was not perhaps as great as the Man’s. He settled in his seat and poked at his now cold breakfast while Snaveling gratefully dug into his own. “Well,” the Halfling began slowly, “I’m happy for your sake that things have turned out. It’s a crime and a shame when a young fellow such as yourself has to made do without provender.”

Snaveling smiled back at Falco, but there was a certain lack of sincerity in the expression. He took a sip of tea to clear his throat. “You have called me ‘young’ twice now Mr. Headstrong, and I am afraid that I must correct you. While I know that among your people my age may not seem overly great, among my own folk I am considered something of a rarity, for I have seen seventy-seven winters.”

“No!” Marigold cried out in disbelief. “You cannot ever be so old Mister Snaveling! I know that the Big Folk age faster than Hobbits, but you cannot be any more than forty or maybe fifty!”

The Man smiled down at the lass. “I am quite sure of my own age, Mistress Marigold. My folk are long-lived. My own father lived to be nearly one hundred and fifty. I am sure that you have heard that the Dunedain, the Rangers who once guarded this land, were blessed with long life. I am kin to those folk, in a fashion.” Marigold merely looked at Snaveling in disbelief, while Falco’s eyes narrowed somewhat as though trying to decide if Snaveling were deluded or merely a bad liar.

[Encaitare]

Caity's dreams the night of the party had been of music and dancing and laughter. She awoke at midmorning, and was rather reluctant to get out of bed -- her feet were a little tired from all the dancing of the previous night. After fifteen minutes, though, she began to notice the smells of breakfast, and she made herself get up.

She dressed slowly, putting on a simple blue dress, much better suited for traveling than the one she had worn the previous night. Then she brushed her hair, tied it back with a ribbon, and began putting her belongings back into her pack. She did not want to leave the inn (after all, there all the cooking and cleaning was done for her and there were plenty of interesting people about), but she understood that she had responsibilities at home, too. Ma would need help looking after Caity's younger siblings, and neither of her parents would be happy if she spent any more money to stay at an inn when she had a perfectly nice home in Brandy Hall. Frankly, they had enough on their hands with the young ones; the last thing they needed was a flighty tween.

Oh, how Caity hated having to act responsibly.

She followed the scent of food down to the common room. There, she found a table for herself, and soon had a nice beakfast of eggs, ham, and tea. When she laid her fork down, she was preparing herself to just get up, gather her things, say a few goodbyes and thank-yous, and leave. But at that moment, Cook walked by near Caity's table, chatting exasperatedly with one of the serving girls.

"...and the flower beds are all a shambles, trampled by everyone yesterday night," she was saying with a shake of her head. "Well, I suppose it was to be expected. A few people are out there now trying to fix them up again..." She and the serving girl continued on their way.

Aha! Caity thought. This was a small excuse to stay longer, if only for a little while. A little garden work didn't sound so bad -- better than minding her brothers and sisters, at any rate. She carefully worked her way through the tables and people and stepped outside.

She saw what Cook meant. The beautiful flower beds had been crushed in some places, footprints clear in the dirt. Several hobbits were working at making them look presentable once more. She approached them and one greeted her.

"Come to help? Wonderful!" he exclaimed before she could say anything.

"Well, I heard that the place was a bit of a mess."

"You heard right," he said, seeming to be cheerfully resigned to his job. "Certainly glad to have more out here. What we're doin' is checkin' the trampled plants first to see if they can be saved. If they look alright to you, stake 'em up. If they're goners, don't hesitate to pull 'em. We're goin' to put in some new ones to fill in any bare spots later. Also, you can smooth the dirt over when you're done, get rid of these footprints."

Caity nodded. "Sounds fine to me."

"There's stakes, string, and some trowels and things over there," he continued, pointing to a pile of simple tools. There were a few beads of perspiration on his forehead despite the breeze; he wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a light streak of dirt. "You need anythin', you just ask for Halfred."

She began rooting about in the garden, determining the fates of the poor squashed plants, and rather enjoying the fact that the dirt was getting under her fingernails.

[littlemanpoet]

"You wonder why I did not go with my kin over sea."

Mithalwen nodded.

"Caradhras proved my foe and fate. I was separated from my father, mother, and brother in a blizzard. Orcs found me and I ...." She stopped, her hands shaking on her cup. Falowik stopped his fork half way between plate and mouth, and set it down. His eyes softened and he reached across the table, setting his hand gently over Uien's. She looked to him gratefully; in that moment Mithalwen saw how it was between the two of them. Strange were the twists of fate. Uien opened her mouth to speak again. "I was imprisoned in the mountain for a time. How much time I do not know." She said this quickly. "A Dwarf found me; I assume the orcs did not survive him and his party. He left me in the care of those at Imladris. 'Twas there that I learned that my kin had left over sea, though they waited many a day for me. At last, the ship would wait no longer and they had to choose."

"You may then cross the sea and be reunited with them," Mithalwen said.

Withdrawing his hand from Uien's, Falowik shot Mithalwen a surprised glance. She expected his eyes to fill with anger; instead she saw resignation. He turned and watched Uien to see how she would respond.

"Nay," Uien said, smiling. "I have foresworn the straight way into the west. I will remain with Falowik." Uien reached across the table, revealing a bright jewel at her breast, hanging from a necklace. Within it was bright light that formed the formen of the Sindarin runes. Uien took Falowik's hand in hers. Mithalwen saw that he bore at his neck a twin to the jewel Uien wore; its light formed the úre.

"But he is mortal," Mithalwen said.

"And so I have become," Uien answered, her face a mix of joy and sorrow in equal portions.

Mithalwen looked at Falowik measuringly, and touched the edges of his mind. He turned to her as if startled, then nodded in understanding, and met her eyes with his own, allowing her to know his thought. There was much darkness inside the man, much bitterness of loss. But overmatching all of it was boundless wonder that this beautiful Elven woman loved him and had chosen his fate in place of her own. More, he was determined to be more than he was for the sake of her love and choice. Mithalwen withdrew from his thought; he sighed and slumped at the shoulders, clearly tired.

Mithalwen sipped her tea and looked to Uien, whom it was clear, knew intimately what had passed between her Lauréatan and the Elvish woman from Lindon.

Uien smiled and said, "We seek a place to settle this side of the sea. What can you tell us of Lindon?"

[Nurumaiel]

"Ah, well," said Falco, after due reflection upon the age of Snaveling's father, "the Old Took did live to be one hundred and thirty." It would have given him immense satisfaction to be able to boast that some hobbit had lived longer than this Big Folk fellow's father, but it was well enough that he could name a hobbit who fell only a little short of that mark. "But you won't be telling me not to call you young," he added, with a little bit of a scowl. "I'll call you young if I want. You're young enough in your personality. Nobody old and responsible would be as poor as you are." No matter that this Big Folk fellow said he had money back at his home. Who was to say it was true? And Falco would never, never admit that he happened to be a few years younger than the Big Folk fellow.

"Now," said Falco, standing up, "I must be running along to buy a few things for pretty Miss Marigold. Will you be all right alone?"

"Oh, I'm not alone," said Marigold. "Mr. Snaveling is here."

Falco cast Mr. Snaveling a dubious look, as if wondering if it would not be better for Marigold to be alone. Big Folk fellows were always kidnapping children, he'd heard. But, no... this was a good Inn and a kidnapper wouldn't get far. He had nothing to fear.

"Well, just don't be wandering too far from the building," said Falco, and he bid the Big Folk fellow and Marigold good day. As he left the Inn he saw Caity stooping in the garden and greeted her curtly, though his tone was not quite as gruff as before. "I hope you'll bring out that whistle of yours and play another tune," he said. She glanced up at him with a smile and an answer on her lips, but he moved on.

Little Marigold perched on the edge of her seat, her eyes fixed upon the Man, and set down her fork and spoon. There was silence between them for a time, and she looked him up and down. It was absurd that a Man could be so very old (why, seventy-seven was positively ancient!) and look so young... but it was thrillingly interesting. She had heard a little about the Rangers from her father, who had known of many of the peoples beyond the borders of the Shire. Didn't Rangers travel around all the time? She was quite confident that they did.

"Oh, Mr. Snaveling," she said, with a hint of breathlessness in her voice, "if you're a Ranger you must have had the most exciting adventures. You do have adventures, don't you? I've never met anyone who has real adventures. My papa used to have exciting times, but they weren't real adventures. Oh, Mr. Snaveling, would you..." She hesitated. Dare she ask him? Weren't Rangers very important people? Maybe he would be offended by her boldness in asking. But... "Would you tell me about your adventures, Mr. Snaveling?"

[samsmyhero]

Denegal's eye lit upon a small serving lass who appeared to be one of the little folk that so populated this town. She was serving a large platter of food to an older looking man, who then leaned down and held a brief whispered conversation with her. The man proceeded to sit and break his fast with two more of the little ones. The young soldier pulled the pouch from around his neck and shook its meager contenets out into the somewhat grimy palm of his hand. He sighed. Four coppers - he doubted that would be enough to pay for a full plate of food. But perhaps it would suffice for at least a slice of ham and some bread.

As the little woman bustled by, back in the direction of the kitchen, Denegal cleared his throat, and stepped forward tentatively. "Um, excuse me, miss. I'd . . . I'd like to buy some breakfast. How much for a half a loaf, and maybe a slice of ham?"

Ruby stopped and looked up at the stranger, a friendly smile warming her face. She had seen many a weary traveller, and could tell right away that this one was in sore need of some good, hearty food - and a good wash! She noticed him gripping his hand tightly, probably around some smallish amount of coin. Well, the Green Dragon was no charity organization, but there was always room for "friendliness".

"Well, sir, don't you worry about the cost. I'll fetch you a plate in a wink, and after you've finished, if you like the cooking, we'll settle up then. How's that? And if you're in need of a bit of a wash up, there's a pump right out in the yard." She nodded significantly in the direction of the door and whisked away before Denegal could reply.

Relieved, Denegal made his way back out into the inn yard and limped carefully around several more young little people who were attempting to clean up some flower beds. There were the signs of recent festivities all about and the bustle and cheerful noise of the young people as they went about their various tasks. He reached the pump and worked the handle up and down, holding his head under the water. It was quite cold and much of it ran down his collar. But it was refreshing and he scrubbed his face and hands vigorously, happy to remove at least some of the dirt of his recent travels. Shaking the excess water out of his hair and wiping his face on his sleeve, as he had no towel, he straightened up and looked around.

The inn seemed a pleasant place, with a small stable attached. It was clean and well kept up. Obviously the innkeeper must take pride in his proprietership. His spirits lifting again, Denegal thought with hope that there might be a good chance that such an inn keeper would be glad to hire on a strong man. Especially if all the employees were of the little variety. Perhaps there might be some job for which his height might be of advantage. True, his recent fortunes had seen his weight drop considerably. But the past months had made him fit and lean, hard and wirey. Pushing his wet hair out of his face, Denegal hobbled back into the inn.

Seeing an empty table, he sat down, being somewhat close to the man he had spied earlier. One of the two little folk, an older male, was gone. But the young female remained, now talking hesitantly to her companion. Without meaning to eavesdrop, Denegal heard the slight Gondorian accent of the man. Well, well. A fellow countryman. At least he wasn't completely alone in this far place.

The little servant maid appeared at his elbow as if by magic, setting a great platter of food before him. The smell of fried eggs and ham, fresh baked bread with butter, and a great mug of steaming hot tea almost made him faint with rapture. "There you are, sir. I hope it pleases." Ruby beamed at the young man.

"Thank you. Really, I can't thank you enough." Denegal dug in, and worked his way silently but diligently through the great mound of food. Ruby kept her eye on him as she passed back and forth, serving the other guests. After some fifteen minutes or so, seeing his plate was finally nearing emptiness, she approached him once more.

"Was it all to your liking? Shall I get you some more tea?"

With a great sigh of hapiness, Denegal smiled at her. "No, thank you. I think I'm full. It was all wonderful. My compliments to the chef. And to the inn keeper. I wonder . . . might I ask you a favor? I'd like to speak with the owner, if you please. Would you ask if he would spare me a moment?"

"Certainly, sir. I'll ask HER if she has a moment." Ruby emphasis was accompanied by a wry smile. "Meantimes, why don't you sit here a while and let that lot digest. Perhaps you'd like me to then point you in the direction of our cobbler. He's a good one." She looked inquisitively at his bare foot.

Denegal looked abashed. He knew after paying for this meal his purse would be empty. He certainly couldn't afford a new pair of boots.

"Well, I think I'll just wait until I speak with the inn keeper - that is - if she's available."

"Right. I'll just go see, then." Ruby hurried away.

[piosenniel]

Ruby relays a message to Denegal of the One Boot

Ruby looked high and low, but Aman was nowhere to be found. As a last resort she hunted up Cook to as if she’d seen Aman. Ruby peeked in the kitchen, but Cook was not there, nor was she in her quarters. The back door to the Kitchen was slightly ajar, though, and she could hear muted voices through the slight gap. Approaching closer, Ruby could tell that one of them was indeed Cook. She opened the door wide, hoping Miz Aman was there with her. But it was only the Gil and Tomlin, whom Cook had drafted into taking the little party lanterns from the trees and was now directing them down the outside steps to the cellar. ‘You’ll find several little wooden crates, at the far east end, lads. The lanterns go in there. And make sure you set the crate tops on firmly.’

Gil winked at Ruby, seeing her face poke out from the kitchen. He wiped the smile from his face and nodded seriously at Cook’s directions. ‘Indeed we will, Miz Bunce!’ he said, urging Tomlin down the stairs ahead of him.

‘Cook?’ called Ruby from the doorway. ‘Have you seen Miz Aman anywhere? There’s a gentleman asking to speak with her.’

‘Probably got up early and put on those riding breeches of hers,’ Cook said, with a decidedly negative emphasis on the word ‘breeches’. ‘And if so, I don’t know when we’ll see hide or hair of the woman!’ Cook came back into the kitchen, straightening her apron as she did so. The big kettle of bean soup that would be for lunch was bubbling merrily away and she gave it a stir and a taste. ‘Needs a pinch or two of thyme,’ she said, ‘and maybe a little more salt.’ Once it was satisfactory to her taste, Cook turned back to Ruby. ‘Now what about this gentleman” Something we can do til Miz Aman gets back?’ The story unfolded of the man with one boot and the flat coin pouch and how nice a man he seemed.

‘Does he look to be an able worker,’ Cook asked, knowing that Ruby was quite good at sizing up people and sifting through stories. Ruby said ‘yes’, he did look honest and he seemed fit enough, if a bit skinny, she offered, as Big Folk tend to be.

‘He’s in luck then,’ said Cook. ‘It’s going to rain to day. I can feel it in my bones. Those long tables and benches we hauled out to the yard for the party need to be brought back into the Common Room before they get all wet and muddy.’ Cook gave the soup another stir. ‘And that reminds me . . . the lad that splits wood for us is home sick. His Ma sent his little sister to let me know. See if that fellow can handle a splitting mall and a saw. There’re two downed beech trees on the far side of the stable need to be bucked and split.’ Cook stood for a few moments, hands on hips considering what she might offer. ‘If he’ll do the work he can have three meals a day and a bed in the stable loft for now. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep his belly full and the rain off his head.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t know what we’ll do about boots if he needs them . . .’

Ruby’s face lit up as she remembered the wardrobe closet in the attic. ‘Maybe he can just look through the baskets of abandoned shoes upstairs. Something might fit him.’

Cook shooed her out of the kitchen, saying she had bread to bake. And the evening meal to plan. Ruby bustled back out to the Common Room, making for Denegal’s table.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she began, ‘but I can’t seem to find Miz Aman for you.’ She saw his face fall at her message. ‘But,’ she hurried on, ‘Cook has some work she needs done and wants to know if you’re up to it.’

And with that, Ruby explained Cook’s offer . . .

[samsmyhero]

Denegal's face brightened considerably as Ruby explained cook's offer of "three meals a day". A place in the stable loft to lay his head was just the honey on the bread. Although, upon refelection, a soft bed of hay would be a welcome change from the smell of dirt in his nostrils and waking each morning drenched in dew.

"Why, I thank you most kindly Miss . . . Miss?"

"My name's Ruby, sir. I help out in the kitchen here and wait the tables, as you can see."

"And you must call me Denegal, for if I'm to work here also, "sir" definitely won't do." The young man smiled at the little woman.

"Then no more of this 'Miss' business either - it's just plain Ruby." She glanced at his feet and said, in a businesslike tone, " Now, it's plain as the nose on my face that you're in need of some new footwear, unless you're hiding that left boot somewhere about your person. We've a closet up in the attic and there's all sorts of odds and ends what people have left behind them once they've left us. You're welcome to have a look and see if there aren't a pair of boots or shoes that'll fit you proper. And if you'll pop round into the kitchen, I'm sure cook can find a cloth and some warm water and soap to wash all those cuts and blisters."

Ruby looked enquiringly at Denegal. He could tell she must be curious to know how and why his foot had got to be in such bad shape, and where his boot might have gone to; but she was too polite to ask him outright.

"My thanks again, Miss . . . er, Ruby. My companion on the road was right - the folks here are of the friendly variety." He laughed. "I'm sure I look a sight. But your faith in me won't be misplaced. I can work as hard as . . . " Denegal caught himself in time. He had been going to say "as ten of you little folk." He didn't wanted to offend his new benefactors, however. And he realized suddenly that, really, he had no idea what these little ones were capable of. ". . . as needed, and harder.", he finished lamely. "I'll go right up then and see what I can find, if you'll point me in the right direction."

Ruby seemed just a tad disappointed that no explanantion would be forthcoming; but, as Denegal correctly assumed, she was far too polite to ask directly. Ah, well, perhaps she'd eventually get it out of him. She told him how to reach the attic and left him with instructions to come to the kitchen when he was finished.

Denegal rose from the table and stretched contentedly. Already, the soreness was leaving his muscles and even his foot felt better. Yes, he thought to himself, he could tell a tale or two of his recent travails. But what did they all amount to in the end? Nothing more than the sorry ramblings of a love struck fool. Well, no longer love struck - but still definitely a fool. A one- booted fool at that! Well, perhaps some evening, when there was nothing better to talk about, he might relate the embarrassing details of his 'flight' from Minas Tirith.

Meanwhile . . . he made his way to the back of the inn as directed, and thence to the attic.

[Child of the 7th Age]

If Bella was surprised by Ginger's answer, she gave no hint in her own cheerful response, "You must be a bright lass to teach yourself all that on your own. I suspect it wouldn't take much for you to read a book like this as well. Still, this one would be a bit of a mouthful to start with."

Bella went to the stack of books on the table and pulled out two slim volumes, both well worn, which she then took and deposited in Ginger's hands. One was labelled "Primer" and the other "Riddles". Both had a generous assortment of pictures. The primer had an alphabet section in the front with a large letter on each page and short words underneath.

"You're welcome to have a look at these and return them whenever you'd like. I would try the Primer first. Better yet, look at it a while and then drop by in a day or so to show me how you're doing. I'll be glad to explain anything you'd like."

Before Ginger left, Bella had her sit down at the table and showed her how the letters "a", "e" and "o" could be put in the middle with a "b", "d", or "g" at the front and back end to make an assortment of words that could easily be sounded out.

Walking to the door, Bella beamed encouragingly at Ginger, "Not so hard. You did very well. And perhaps there's something you can do for me. This could be our secret. I've never been in the Shire before, and there's a lot about hobbits I only know second hand. Father never felt right here. Too many hurt feelings. I've been to Bree once or twice but most of my life was spent among the Big Folk. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two about the Shire, just simple things like hobbit songs and dances and how to make favorite foods that folk like to eat. Strange isn't it," Bella mused, "I've been from one end of Middle-earth to the other but never lived among my own kin."

There was a glint of sadness in Bella's voice, but it was quickly replaced by a hopeful tone, "Not that I can complain. I doubt there are too many folk who can call the New Lands their home...."

[Arry]

‘Well, that’s the last of them!’ Tomlin put the cover on the last wooden crate, banging it on securely with a small hammer he’d found in a nearby box of tools. He sat down with a weary sigh and rubbed his temples. The effects of yesterday’s party were not quite gone, and he could feel the irritating thump of a headache, just waiting to flare up. ‘I suppose we’d best go up and see if Herself has anything more she wants us to do . . . or better yet, let’s hit her up for a second breakfast.’ There was no answer. Only the scraping and shoving of something heavy being moved. ‘Gil?’ he called out. ‘You there?’

The feeble slant of sunlight through one of the grimy cellar windows was hard put to push into the corners of the cellar. Tomlin stood up, narrowing his eyes as he tried to peer into the shadows.’

‘Oy! Tomlin! Over here!’ came Gil’s voice, though it was muffled. ‘Look what I’ve found!’

Tomlin followed the sounds, back to an ill lit, dusty little hidey hole deep under the stairs that led up to the kitchen. Gil had found a small candle lantern, lit it, and hung it from a bent nail beneath the stair riser. From the curtain of cobwebs he’d dragged out a large, round-topped wooden chest with a large metal clasp on it, secured by a rusty looking padlock. Gil’s eyes sparkled as he motioned Tomlin closer. ‘Looks like some sort of treasure chest, doesn’t it?’ Gil said. ‘Get that old mop handle over there. Let’s see if we can break this old lock.’

The two Hobbits slipped the long oak handle through the shackle and levered down on it with all their muscle. They were rewarded by a jangle of metal as the lock swung open and hung free. The lock was quickly removed altogether and the top of the chest heaved open. Gil grabbed the candle lantern and held it expectantly over the chest. No glint of gold or gems leapt forth – just a tumble of clothes in velvets and linens and ruffles. Hats with feathers and leather bands . . . and more common types of clothes. And all of them in a tiny size.

‘Who do you think these belong to?’ asked Tomlin, holding a little grey cloak up. From neck to hem it was no longer than the length of his forearm. Gil had knelt down by the trunk and was digging through it, still in hopes of finding a few coins or jewels. ‘Hunh!’ he said, as he reached the bottom. ‘I think they belong to these . . .

He stood up carefully, his hands at waist height, strings hanging from them, and at the end danced a cleverly carved little marionette . . .

[Mithalwen]

"I have foresworn the straight way into the west. I will remain ."
"But he is mortal," - "And so I have become,"

These words sliced into Mithalwen's heart like a knife and she closed her mind, pulling shutters of steel across the window of her soul. Why had she stayed in this place - everyone seemed to remind her of that which she had so long tried to forget. How could the elf have become mortal - that was a gift only to those whose hearts were servants of some greater destiny? Long she had believed a long widowhood and separation beyond the world's ending was the fate of those of lesser significance who wed with mortals. She struggled to prevent any trace of her thoughts escaping.

"Lindon is fair" she said simply allowing her mind to wander the safer paths of the green land between the Sea and the Blue Mountains. "My home is in Mithlond like most of the elves who there remain, but as a child I spent much time on the coast - my mother's family lived in a small community there. But the war put the end to that.

The havens are a good place for me to practise my craft and Cirdan is a just and wise lord who administers his authority lightly, but dwelling there may bring grief if the Belegaer is a reminder of separation. Or so I find it. That is the reason for my journey inland. When a ship sails it brings many memories; so I must leave the sea, that I love at all other times, for a while and let my soul find peace as I journey under beechwoods. Also Imladris is still a refuge though Elrond has left it and there I will go for a time". Mithalwen took up her cup again hoping somehow that the hot liquid might steady the turmoil she felt inside.

[piosenniel]

Cook comes upon Gil and Tomlin . . .

The two young men were wrapped up in their own conversation as Cook padded softly down the steps. Peaches were on her mind . . . the fat, ripe, juicy peaches from old Tolman’s orchard that she’d canned last summer. Today was the perfect day for a peach upside down cake. She’d already got out the butter and flour and leavening; the eggs and the dark brown sugar the trader from Bree had brought. The rich yellow cake batter was all set to pour over the peach slices . . . now all she had to do was find the shelf she’d put them on.

‘. . . we could put on a show,’ came Gil’s voice from the shadows. ‘I have an idea, but we’ll need someone to help us write it up.’ The sound of something tiny clack-clacking on wood drew Cook’s attention. She rounded the corner as she stepped off the stairs and made her way to where she had heard Gil.

In the soft light from the candle lantern Cook could see Gil holding up a little figure suspended from strings. It wore a long grey cloak and had a mop of curly hair. In its hands was a little wooden horn, and Gil moved the figure as if it were stalking something or someone. Its little wooden feet clacked along the top of a crate top. ‘Come, lads!’ Cook heard Gil say in a deep voice. ‘We’ll ambush those ruffians and do the blackguards in!’ ‘We’re with you, Merry!’ came Tomlin’s voice. Gil raised the instrument to the marionette’s lips and mimicked the notes of a horn being blown. Awake! Awake! Fire, foes, fear! Awake! he cried. ‘I think it’s “Fear! Fire! Foes!”,’ said Tomlin . . .

‘Tomlin’s right,’ said Cook, stepping out of the shadows. The two lads whipped around, the little puppets going slack at their feet as the dropped their arms. ‘Miz Bunce . . .’ Gil began, feeling guilty to have been found rooting through things that were not his.

‘Oh my,’ said Cook, drawing near to the opened chest. ‘I haven’t seen these in a very long time.’ She picked up the fallen puppet and turned it gently in her hands. ‘I’d quite forgotten these were down here.’

‘These are yours?’ asked Gil, seeing Cook in a new light.

‘No, but I did sew the clothes,’ she said, fingering the little brocaded vest the puppet wore, her eyes looking at it in a critical manner. ‘My dear husband carved these,’ she went on, laying the puppet down on the clothes in the trunk. ‘For his brother . . . he liked to put on little plays for folks at the Midsummer Festival.’ Cook’s eyes went all soft and she sighed as the memories flooded back of those old days. ‘They’re gone, now, the both of them.’

The two lads stood quietly, not knowing what to say. Cook recollected herself, focusing back on the scene before her. ‘You know,’ she said, her hand resting on the opened lid of the trunk. ‘I heard you two playing a little scene before I spoke.’ She patted the old trunk with affection. ‘It’s a shame that this should be hid away any longer in the shadows and the cobwebs. You two bring it on up . . . take it to that back room off the Common room . . . see what you can work up with it.’

Cook started back to the shelves where she’d stored the peaches. ‘There they are,’ she said reaching for one jar and then another. ‘You know,’ she called back over her shoulder to the two lads and motioning them forward to help her for a moment with several more jars of peaches. ‘Mister Bunce always thought there should be some music to accompany the little plays, he did. He always thought that would set them up just right . . .’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger could hardly wait to take her books up to her room. She knew just where she was going to put them. Next to the little lamp on the small nightstand that stood by her bed. She put the piece of paper Miz Bella had shown her for the letters ‘a’, ‘e’, and ‘o’ carefully between the two books. Later she’d ask Buttercup if she knew where she could find a quill and ink for her own use.

She brought her attention back to the elderly Hobbit who was walking her back to the door. It was the tone in Miz Bella’s voice . . . sad, and a little wistful. ‘Oh, m’am’, said Ginger, ‘t’would hardly be any sort of fair payment to teach you those things.’ She blushed, thinking how she was getting the better end of the deal. ‘But, if that’s what you really want, then that’s what I’ll see to.’

Ginger’s eyes lit up, remembering what Cook said she was to help make for supper. ‘Would you like to help with the pie for supper?’ she offered. ‘Now pastry I’m sure is the same most places, but here in the Shire we like to fill our meat pie with tender chunks of coney, a bit of onion, lovely taters in thick pieces, and plump slices of mushrooms . . . got here in the woods right near Bywater.’ Ginger warmed up to her subject . . . she had found, much to her surprise, that she quite liked to cook. And under Miz Bunce’s tutelage was getting better at it.

‘. . . and gravy, she went on, plenty of tasty gravy to bind it all together. Salt and pepper for seasoning, just to bring out the flavors. And when we have them, bits of carrot add a bit of sweetness to the filling.’ Ginger sighed, ‘Nothing like a flakey meat pie to tuck into at the end of a grey day.’ She grinned at Miz Bella. ‘And to top it off I think we’re having a peach upside down cake with sweet clotted cream for dessert.’

She thanked Miz Bella for the loan of the books once again and stepped out the door to the kitchen. ‘Anyways, if you want to you can help me later.’ She turned back to the older woman, her brow wrinkled. ‘One thing, if you don’t mind, ‘cause otherwise I’ll be wondering about it all day long . . . where are those New Lands you mentioned . . . the ones you call home?’

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator